Fair Words and Fine Melodies
by Miroslav
Summary: Dinadan was grateful suddenly, so grateful that he almost couldn't breathe, that his last sight of Palomides wouldn't be that final startled look from the tower, Palomides's surprise just beginning to turn to alarm as Dinadan fell. Dinadan/Palomides, set during The Ballad of Sir Dinadan.


Written for azurish for Yuletide.

Thanks goes out to sigaloenta for looking this over.

The title comes from the troubadour Peire Vidal (1175 – 1205)'s Ges quar estius. The poem Palomides translates is by Ibn Hazm, an Andalusian poet who lived from 994-1064.

* * *

For a moment after Sylvanus disappeared, it was quiet. Dinadan could hear the river rumbling, and the leaves occasionally rustling on the trees beside him. The sounds proved little distraction for his body's aches and pains. When the sound of approaching horses and the murmur of voices met his ears, he grinned in relief.

The voices drew closer, and he recognized Palomides's voice. It was a struggle to lift himself up on one elbow, but Dinadan managed it with a violent creaking of his armor. "I hope you brought my horses too, because I sure don't feel like walking," he called.

There was no answer at first, the conversation halting as though Palomides and Sir Hermind had been shocked into silence. Then Palomides answered, his voice filled with an emotion Dinadan didn't recognize. "Lord Dinadan?"

"Well, I'm certainly not Helius." Dinadan frowned. "Or Helake. Whichever twin I took through that window." The undergrowth shook and trembled, sounding like a horse galloping despite the dark. Dinadan tried to get his other elbow under him as well, straining to see whether it was Palomides or Sir Hermind who was being so reckless. That was a mistake. He sank back, groaning.

He didn't see the horse's approach, distracted fighting against swooning like a maiden in some trite ballad. He heard the loud jangle of the reins and a thud, as though someone had landed heavily beside him.

Cold fingers touched his jaw. Dinadan opened his eyes, startled. Palomides was bent over him. The starlight illuminated his features, revealing a dark gaze and unsmiling mouth. His bare hand passed slowly across Dinadan's cheek.

At the worry in his friend's face, Dinadan tried to grin. "Don't look so solemn. I'm bruised all over, but I'll live."

Palomides drew in a sharp breath. His expression eased. He said nothing, but smiled a little, almost reluctantly, as Dinadan added lightly, "Though I meant it about the horses. Walking is not an appealing thought."

"Sir Dinadan!" Sir Hermind's face lit with amazed relief as he arrived at the riverbank. His horse immediately snorted, an oddly satisfied sound. The third horse, Dinadan's pack-horse, lowered her head to nudge Dinadan's other shoulder.

Dinadan, remembering Sylvanus' remark about leading the horses to him, gave her a grateful pat on the neck. He would have to visit the stables tomorrow and show his gratitude with a carrot or two.

Sir Hermind dismounted, still smiling from ear to ear. "We thought you were dead! How did you survive the fall?"

"The river preferred Helake or Helius, apparently," Dinadan said. He tried to laugh and then coughed instead. Once he caught his breath, he added, "I would take offense, but in this case I'm grateful."

"As am I," Palomides said, so quietly that Dinadan almost missed it.

Dinadan smiled up at him. Then he shivered; the clothing beneath his armor was clammy and cold. "Help me up? I think I'm starting to rust."

Both Sir Hermind and Palomides carefully helped Dinadan to his feet, the latter keeping him steady even as Dinadan discovered that his limbs, on top of feeling bruised and abused, refused to support him.

Leaning against Palomides, Dinadan stared doubtfully at his pack-horse. There was no sign of a third saddle. He supposed that it made sense, since Palomides and Sir Hermind had believed him dead, but the prospect of riding a saddleless horse back to the castle was daunting.

His reluctance must have showed on his face, because Palomides's arm tightened around him. "We often ride without saddles in Araby. It is considered a test of skill."

Dinadan's imagination painted a vivid picture of several knights he knew attempting to ride without a saddle. He couldn't help grinning. "I'm tempted to suggest that test to the king, you know. It would make the tournaments much more interesting. But if that was your roundabout way of suggesting I ride your horse, I accept."

"That was indeed what I meant," Palomides said. His arm was still around Dinadan; Dinadan was aware for the first time how close Palomides was, smelling of sweat and steel, the scents half-lost beneath the harsher smell of river water that clung to Dinadan. Palomides's frown remained, half lost in shadow. "Will you need help mounting?"

Dinadan considered the question. Was it more embarrassing to ask for help outright, or to refuse it and fall off the horse? Definitely the latter, he decided. "I might," he admitted. When he took a step towards the pack-horse, his knees buckled. He grabbed Palomides's arm and laughed ruefully, waving away his friend's look of concern. "I do."

He blinked as Palomides knelt and cupped his hands together, one still donning the gauntlet, the other bare. It was a strange sight. Dinadan scrambled onto the horse's back as quickly as possible. There he sat, clinging grimly to his saddle as Palomides picked up his discarded gauntlet and two helmets from the dirt.

The journey back to the castle was some of the most uncomfortable few hours of Dinadan's life. Palomides's horse had an even gait, but even the smallest movement made Dinadan grit his teeth and think longingly of bed.

When Palomides brought the pack-horse to match pace with his and laid a steadying hand on Dinadan's arm, Dinadan said dryly, "Next time I decide to tackle someone out of a window, talk me out of it."

This didn't garner a smile as he'd hoped, but rather a frown. When they had first met, Dinadan had thought Palomides polished wood in color, but his expression had always been lively, whether betraying his pleasure at one of Dinadan's songs or his distaste at Tristram or Culloch. Now, however, his face seemed entirely carved from wood, unchanging and distant.

Well, perhaps Palomides was tired. He'd been searching for Dinadan for hours, after all. After a moment of awkward silence Dinadan gave up on conversation and concentrated on not shivering himself clean off his horse.

* * *

"King Hermind!" an unfamiliar voice cried. When Dinadan opened his eyes, jerking painfully from a half-doze, he found that they had arrived at the castle. A servant was crossing the courtyard to meet them, a torch in his hand.

Sir Hermind looked alarmed by the servant's welcome. " _Sir_ Hermind," he corrected hastily. Then he turned towards Dinadan. Concern furrowed his brow. "We'll need the physician."

"There's no need to make such a fuss. Nothing's broken," Dinadan said with one last attempt at dignity. Then he made the mistake of trying to dismount on his own. His legs refused, as heavy as if they'd turned to stone while he'd slept, and he slipped from the saddle. He would have fallen if not for Palomides, who had kept his horse close and now caught him around the waist.

With a sigh, Dinadan abandoned any semblance of pride and let Palomides help him down. Palomides stayed close as Dinadan leaned heavily against his mount and hoped his legs would cooperate soon.

The horse turned his head and lipped at some of Dinadan's hair. When he laughed and pushed the horse's head away, his hand brushed disgusting curls, still foul from the river. He wondered how Palomides could bear to be near him. Grimacing he added, "Although I wouldn't turn down a bath."

Sir Hermind nodded, though he didn't look reassured. "Very well. But let the physician look at you first." He turned towards the servant. "Fetch the physician and have someone prepare a bath for Sir Dinadan." His voice took on a tone of authority that Dinadan suspected was instinctive.

The servant bowed. "Yes, King Hermind," he said, and he departed before Sir Hermind could correct him again.

Still resting against his horse, Dinadan tried not to shiver. The night had gotten colder, and his clothes were still a little damp from the river. A shudder moved through him, and the clanking of his armor gave him away. He sighed at Palomides's frown, for Palomides had removed his helmet and tucked it under his arm. Dinadan reached out, gripping Palomides's shoulder and wishing that a gauntlet and armor didn't separate them.

He tried to think of something that would coax a smile. "Palomides, I'm all right." He grinned and ruefully touched his jaw, where he could feel a tenderness. He must have hit it at some point during his fall into the river. He decided to be thankful he hadn't lost any teeth. "I might be bruised all over and turn several colors of the sunrise tomorrow, but-"

"We should get you out of your armor," Palomides said. It was the first time he had spoken since Dinadan had mounted his horse. When Dinadan blinked at him, Palomides's expression softened, the wooden look changing to tired worry. He pressed Dinadan's hand and bowed his head. Softly, he said, "Forgive me, my friend. I fear I have been remiss in showing how grateful I am that you survived. When I saw you fall-" He stopped abruptly, his mouth twisting as though he'd tasted something sour.

"No," Dinadan said, looking closely at Palomides. "No, you shouldn't apologize. I'm the one who's been an ass, making jests after you spent hours thinking I was dead."

Palomides smiled wanly. His hand was still on Dinadan's. He took a deep breath.

Before he could speak, Sir Hermind declared, "Sir Palomides is right! You need to get out of that armor. We shall get someone to see if it's salvageable in the morning. If not, I'm certain that replacing it would be the least I could do for you."

Dinadan resisted the urge to sigh. If the thought of wearing his own armor was unappealing, so was the thought of wearing brand new armor that would go to waste, for Dinadan intended to go on as he had, wearing his armor only when necessary. Still, the offer was well-meant. "Thank you," he said, attempting a smile.

Palomides withdrew his hand, though he stayed close. "I will fetch your clothes as well. And I kept your rebec with my belongings."

Now Dinadan smiled in earnest. "Thank you."

* * *

"Bless you," Dinadan said fervently, sinking into the tub as the servant bowed and left the room. He rested his head against the edge of the metal rim and sighed, mostly content. His entire body still felt battered, of course, but the hot water was soothing the worst of the aches. He managed to keep his eyes open, although it was a temptation to doze.

Seated by the bath, Palomides smiled, the corners of his eyes creasing. At last most of his worry seemed to have eased, his frown at the sight of Dinadan's already coloring bruises fading to a less strained look. It seemed that he finally believed Dinadan would be all right.

Dinadan fought back a yawn. "By all rights, you should have a bath as well," he remarked, eyeing his friend. Palomides had stripped off his armor after helping Dinadan out of his, and his tunic and breeches were creased and sweat-stained.

Palomides shook his head. "I shall have one in the morning. The servants need their rest as well."

"True enough," Dinadan said. He swallowed another yawn. His sleepy gaze traced Palomides's broad shoulders, the large hands that rested lightly on his knees, the long legs that stretched out before him. He remembered how easily Palomides had taken on those four men. It was a pity, really, that he didn't wish to be one of Arthur's knights. Arthur could do with more men like Palomides. And Dinadan would miss him, once he returned to Araby.

Dinadan's chest ached at the thought. He was grateful suddenly, so grateful that he almost couldn't breathe, that his last sight of Palomides wouldn't be that final startled look from the tower, Palomides's surprise just beginning to turn to alarm as Dinadan fell.

Affection filled him near to bursting. He wished that he had his rebec, but he hadn't wanted it close to the water, especially not with his limbs still feeling so weak. Still his fingers twitched and the beginning of a melody began in his head. The Ballad of Sir Palomides would make a much better song than The Ballad of Sir Dinadan.

Dinadan watched Palomides's smile, and was rewarded by it growing wider as he added, "Besides, they'd probably have to find a larger tub for you."

Palomides laughed. "Indeed! But it is no hardship to wait a few hours. I spent days so in Jerusalem when we couldn't spare the water, besieged as we were."

The warmth of the water was lulling Dinadan to sleep. He remembered the song he had written for Brother Eliot years ago. Drowsily, he sang,

 _"What must the infidel have thought_  
 _Beholding those corsairs?_  
 _How bravely the Crusaders fought_  
 _For lands that were not theirs._

 _How utterly, completely mad_  
 _To fly to the defense_  
 _Of cities they had never had_  
 _And haven't wanted since."_

He broke off, yawning. When he opened his eyes, Palomides's look was strange. Belatedly Dinadan realized how flippant the song would sound to a man who been in the war. Wide awake now, he straightened, water splashing over the tub's rim as he studied Palomides's unreadable expression. "Sorry," he said. He grimaced. "What an ass I'm being tonight!"

Palomides stood. For a moment Dinadan feared he would leave. Then Palomides stepped closer to the bath, shaking his head. "You said nothing to offend me, my friend. I only wish that more people thought as you did. That _was_ one of your songs, was it not?"

"It was," Dinadan admitted. "One of my earlier ones." He grinned tentatively up at Palomides, relieved. "Still, if I wrote it now, I wouldn't call the people of Jerusalem infidels."

It was only as the strange look passed when Palomides smiled that Dinadan recognized it. It was the same one he'd worn in the forest, when he'd studied Dinadan in silence and then asked if they could wander the country a while longer. "I know you would not," Palomides said, so fondly that heat that he could not blame on the hot water crept into Dinadan's face.

He ducked under the surface, scrubbing some of the mud and river grime from his hair. When he emerged, Palomides, kneeling, offered him a bottle. Sniffing it, Dinadan found that the contents smelled of rosemary water, mint, thyme, and other herbs he couldn't name. "Thank you," he said, and began to pour some of it over his hair. The rosemary water was colder than he'd expected. His hand jerked and what felt like half the bottle spilled upon his head.

Before he could react, Palomides tilted Dinadan's head back, one large hand cupped over his brow so that none of the rosemary water got into his eyes. His hands were callused and gentle, and warmer than they'd been at the river.

Affection turned to desire, a helpless longing choking him. Unthinking, Dinadan pressed into the touch. It was only when Palomides's hands trembled and drew away that he realized what he'd done. His stomach sank. What would Palomides think of him? Slowly he opened his eyes.

Palomides was smiling.

One look at the warmth in Palomides's eyes banished all misgivings. His own wide smile hurt his face, but it was a welcome pain. Dinadan drew a breath, intending to speak. All his words had deserted him. He straightened, rosemary water dripping everywhere. At last he managed to say, "Palomides."

"Lord Dinadan," Palomides answered, still smiling. His hand carded through Dinadan's hair, smoothing back the wet strands before it dropped to Dinadan's arm.

Now Dinadan heard it, the tenderness in his voice like a note in a song Dinadan had misheard. He laughed in wonder and then reached up, taking Palomides's face in his hands. His touch was clumsy with nervous want, but some of his nervousness eased as Palomides bent closer, leaning into his grip.

He found his voice again. "I'm going to kiss you now," he said, savoring each word and the way Palomides's eyes darkened. "Don't laugh too much if I make a muddle of it, would you?" Before Palomides could speak, Dinadan tilted his head and caught his mouth.

In his eagerness he misjudged somehow, kissing the corner of Palomides's still-smiling mouth. Then Palomides turned his head a little and kissed him back, fiercely.

Dinadan's heart pounded in his ears, too fast a tempo for him to ever set to song. When the kiss ended he drew in a ragged breath, the smell of rosemary dizzying him. He leaned in for another kiss and then halted halfway, groaning, as pain shot through him.

When he lowered his hands and dropped his head to Palomides's shoulder, waiting for the pain to ease, Palomides smoothed his palm over Dinadan's hair once more. "Forgive me, I wasn't thinking. We should wait until you have recovered." His voice was low and warm.

Dinadan's traitorous body shivered at the sound. "Waiting is a sensible idea, and I hate it," he informed him. He felt rather than heard Palomides's quiet laughter. He looked up into his friend's face, still astonished by the emotions he found there. How long had Palomides felt thus? How long had Dinadan been blind? Unable to resist, he moved carefully and kissed Palomides once more. "But yes, later. When I don't feel like a giant has stomped on me repeatedly."

Palomides laughed even as concern creased his brow. "Do you need me to fetch the physician again?"

"No," Dinadan said firmly. "A nice long rest will cure all ills." With great reluctance he drew away and submerged himself in the bath once more, washing the rosemary water from his hair.

When he surfaced, it was to song.

Palomides's low voice rose and fell in a quavering melody, each note touched with warm sincerity. Dinadan still didn't know a word of Palomides's mother tongue, yet the emotion in Palomides's voice and face held him spellbound. He sat there, heavy with longing, until Palomides finished. Then he cleared his throat. "What does it mean?"

Palomides smiled, looking pleased as he always did when Dinadan asked about his music. "It is a poem by one of our great poets, Ibn Hazm, that I have attempted with my meager skill to turn to song." His brow furrowed again, this time in thought. Then slowly, reciting rather than singing, he began.

 _"I would split open my heart_  
 _with a knife, place you_  
 _within and seal my wound,_  
 _that you might dwell there_

 _and never inhabit another_  
 _until the resurrection and_  
 _judgment day — thus you_  
 _would stay in my heart_

 _while I lived, and at my death_  
 _you too would die in the_  
 _entrails of my core, in_  
 _the shadow of my tomb."_

Dinadan nodded, pressing his lips tightly together. Affection made it difficult not to laugh. How he loved Palomides and his strange, dreary poetry! Knowing Palomides was expecting a response, he managed to say, "Very...vivid, my friend."

He stood, shivering from the castle air, his legs trembling a little at the exertion of keeping himself upright. He gratefully accepted the cloth Palomides offered. He had been naked with Palomides at other times, but now he was too aware of his bare skin, and Palomides's look was like a touch that Dinadan longed to return. He ran the cloth over one arm, and then the other, and then laughed and cast it aside.

"Lord Dinadan," Palomides said when Dinadan paused in kissing him. He attempted sternness, though it was ruined by his smile and his hands settling upon Dinadan's hips. He brushed a kiss to Dinadan's brow. "You should rest."

"I will," Dinadan said cheerfully. "If you help me to bed." He purposefully wobbled his legs, assuming a woebegone look that he knew Palomides would see through. "I can't make it there on my own, you see. Had a bit of a rough day."

Both of Palomides's eyebrows rose, and then his smile widened. "Then let me offer my assistance, my friend."


End file.
